Mommy Fail

It's the afternoon of Mother's Day.

While Maeve quietly naps in her crib, Bry has taken Mo up to the third floor playroom giving me the chance to curl up in my bed and nap.

Ah, sweet sleep.

It's only been about forty minutes when I hear the footsteps descending the stairs. Into our room they walk. Bry  first, nodding his head, while Mo follows behind. Her own blue eyes failing to make eye contact, as she enters our room.

Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I lean against the pillow. Without words, we share a glance. That parental look where without words, the shared experience that something big has gone down.

I gulp as he begins, "Tell your mommy what just happened."

She fails to lift her head, as she whispers, "I don't wanna. You tell daddy."

"We were having a great time upstairs, right Mo?"

"Yeah, daddy", she mutters, still head downturn.

"We played with some toys, and then Mo asked if we could play a game. She chose Zinga. What a great game, right Mo?"

Her eyes lift for a second here, and meet mine, "Yeah daddy."

Her focus returns back to the floor.

"Well, we played a few games. Do you know that Mo is really good at Zinga? She beat me three times in a row! We started another game and she got a little messed up. She picked up a piece she wasn't suppose to and then she said something naughty. What did you say, Mo?" he has taken a seat next to me on the bed, as she has moved behind his body, trying to hide her eyes from my own.

"I don't know" she mutters.

"Yes you do" he says forcefully. "Tell mommy what you said."

"Shit" she says.

Biting the inside of my mouth I try unsuccessfully to keep the laughter from escaping. "Why would you say that?" I ask. "That's not really nice."

Bry cuts me off, "You didn't say 'shit'. Tell mommy what you really said."

"What did you say Mo? I promise I won't be mad, if you tell me the truth." I plead.

Bry continues, "It's alright right now to say that word. You won't ever get in trouble for telling the truth. Mommy needs to hear what word you said."

The tears fill her eyes as her glance meets mine. "I don't want to" she cries.

"You need to tell mommy what you said." he goes on. "I know it's not nice, but tell her anyway."

Shaking her head, she looks up again, "No. I'm scared".

Brushing her bangs from her hair, he pulls her into his arms. "It's important you tell her."

"Okay daddy." she says. Turning her face to me, "I said fuck."

Fuck me.

There's only one person who made the mistake of saying this word a few times in front of Mo and Maeve.

It's me.

This is all my fault.

"Well Mo, that is really not a nice word. It's wrong when Mommy says it, and it's really hurtful. I'm sorry I said it, and I really hope you don't say it anymore. It hurts peoples' feelings and is not nice." I stammer.

Bry chimes in, "It really is the meanest word you can say, Mo. We don't want to hurt people, right? So let's not say this again, okay?"

"Okay daddy. I'm sorry" she concedes.

"Okay babe. I need you to go play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to mommy, okay?" he asks.

"Of course daddy. I'm so sorry." she adds, skipping out of the room.

I'm at a loss here.

I know this is entirely my fault. The girls are with me all the time. I know my loose lips are too blame. All too often I have let these things escape, falling on their ears.

He doesn't have to say word.

I'm wrong.
I'm to blame.
I messed up.

"I feel like crap. I really messed this one up." I say. "Happy Mother's Day to me!"

"Well," he starts, "You do have something to be proud of. She knows how to use it in context."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"She had messed up the little plastic piece, and looking up, with an exasperated sigh, she said, 'ah, Fuck!'. It was in a totally appropriate context, I mean, if you're looking to use fuck in context, this was the place. That's one of the reasons I figured we should talk it out. It wasn't like she just randomly threw it in conversation. She used it appropriately. Our kid already knows how to curse the right way." he finished, nodding his head the same way he did when he came into the room a few minutes before.

"Well, I guess I should be proud, right? She's pretty damn smart then, right?" I sighed.

"Ah, we all mess up, and I'll be honest. It's kind of nice seeing that this is pretty much all your fault. You're not a perfect parent after all." he says.

I'm nodding now as I say, "hardly the case of perfect parenting here. Sucky mom, that's what I am!"

He leans over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Not a sucky mom" he says, "just one with a potty mouth".

Linking up with Erica M, and the best little blogger challenge:  Yeah Write.

Tiger Mom in Training

Once upon a time I spent every day in a bathing suit.

From the age of fourteen through twenty, I spent six days a week in or around a swimming pool. Besides competitive swimming practice, my days were spent either as a lifeguard or teaching swim lessons. In that six year time period, I taught hundreds of people how to swim. Private lessons, group lessons, adult lessons, child lessons, I had done it all.

I knew it all.

Okay so maybe not it "all" but all one needed to be a really good swim teacher.

And then I had my own kids.

And I sucked.

I missed the window, so to be speak. That window of opportunity where my kid was filled with confidence and enthusiasm about the swimming pool.

Instead, I've got a hot mess!

Before Maeve's birth, I had enrolled Mo in parent child lessons. At under two years old, she loved swimming. Eagerly she would jump into my waiting arms, laughing and kicking, enjoying each moment.

Then it got to be too much. Having a newborn and a two year old, we put off swim lessons..

"We'll sign her up soon" we both promise.

One year passes and then another.

In the bath, just after the new year, she plays with her sister as usual, and I sit on the floor beside the tub.

"Put your face in a bit!" I instruct.

"No mommy. I no like it!" she barks. "I no like swimming!"

"Of course you do" I say, "Don't you want to go swimming in a pool?"

"No. I NO LIKE SWIMMING." her voice echoes through the bathroom this time.

"Hey Bry," I call, "Come in here for a sec. Mo has something to tell you."

Tears stream down her face as he enters the bathroom. Her breathing labors as she cries, "I no want to go swimming. I no like swim lessons. I not going to go!"

Way to go Jackie! Parent of the year over here!

Without delay, that night we join the Y, and enroll Mo in beginner swim lessons, which start the very next Monday.

As the weeks pass, her confidence builds as she becomes relaxed in the water, even finding confidence to jump in during the last class. Her well seasoned teacher is a Godsend, and Mo loves Miss T.

In the next session we find Mo's teacher to be a high school aged guy (Mr.B), who, Miss T confesses is only teaching his second session independently.

Wonderful!, I think, Let's hope he doesn't lose all the great stuff Mo got from Miss T.

Surprise, he is wonderful! Mo likes him, and he gives her just the right amount of support and instruction. I'll eat crow on that one.

As the session is coming close to an end, B gives recommendations to parents for the upcoming class sign ups. Glancing quickly, I notice Pike 1 is scrawled in pen.

No big deal.  It's only been two sessions, and my money's on the 2020 Olympics anyway.

I'm about to leave, ushering the toweled wrapped girls off the pool deck when B. makes his mistake.

Instead of leaving well enough alone, he catches my attention, stuttering a bit says, "Well I have Mo down for Pike 1. She's pretty close to being ready for Pike 2. We'll just see how she does these next two weeks, and then we can decide for next semester. She's pretty close you know."

Huh?

I have little time to digest this information before Mo begins squealing into my ear, "Panera! Panera! Panera! Panera please?" as Maeve tugs my leg, reaching her arms up for me hold her.

We have a problem here.

Apparently B. isn't familiar to the logistics of swim lesson sign ups.

Remember those concerts that sell out within minutes, leaving would be buyers thinking what just happened?

Sign up for swim lessons is exactly like that.

First come, first serve baby. I can't be waiting two weeks for my kid's instructor to decide whether she's in Pike 1 or Pike 2.

The early bird gets the worm, or in our case the most ideal class time, so Mama's got to make some big decision here.

As it is Sunday night, sign up's begin on Monday, which gives us one night to decide where to put Mo.

That night, after the girls are sleeping, I broach the subject with Bry. Filling him in with the brief conversation with B, the paper, and my own professional opinion of the situation.

"Well, sounds like we should sign her up for Pike 1 again." he starts. "I mean, this way she'll be comfortable and everything."

"Really?" I say.  "I definitely was thinking Pike 2."

"But B said, she's close, not there all the way yet. I wouldn't want her to hate it, you know? It's only been two sessions." he continues.

"Ah, she'll do fine!' I say confidently.

"Jac, she's only four. It's no big deal". he finishes. "We'll sign up later tonight".

"I guess you're right." I concede. "Pike 1 it is then."

And then like good parents everywhere, later that night,

we forget.

Two days later, I wake in a panic. My heart is beating fast, and a cold sweat has broken out over my brow.

I shove Bry awake. "We forgot to sign up the girls for swimming. We're going to get stuck with some crappy time!"

Getting downstairs a few minutes later he pulls the website on the computer.

"Saturday at nine, right?  for both girls, right?  This way it'll be easy for all of us." he asks.

"Sounds like a plan" I say.

"Um," he coughs, "We got a problem. Pike 1 is full."

"Is Pike 2 open?" I ask, making sure my eyes meet his.

"Well, yeah. But I thought.." he starts.

"Don't think. Sign her up for Pike 2." I assert. "She'll be fine."

"I'm holding you personally responsible if the shit hits the fan on this one" he says, securing Mo a space in the Pike 2 class.

"She'll be awesome." I say, "I just know it:"

Saturday morning comes and she is awesome.

For the record, it was me who never had any doubts that it would be any other way.


Time to get your read & vote on! Yeah Write #56 is in effect!

Perspective

At ten months old, with a stolen sip of milk,  the hives take over her face.

In a frantic call to the pediatrician,  "bring her right over" I'm told.

Panic overtakes my belly, as Maeve giggles in the car seat.

"Most likely, we're looking at a milk allergy" the doctor responds after a five minute examination. "I recommend you make an appointment with a pediatric allergist as soon as possible."

Only a month later, I hold Maeve  in my arms as we are ushered to the exam room.

Sitting in my lap, blissfully unaware of what is to occur, she leans her head back onto my chest. Reaching her hand up, she finds my hair, and starts playing.

I take a deep breath as the nurse enters.

"We're going to do a scratch test. We'll test her for the most common allergies: milk, egg, peanuts, tree nuts, and wheat. You'll have to be here for a while, as we wait to see if she has a reaction."

Those big blue eyes meet my own as the tears stream down. She tries to scratch, as I bat her hand away.

"You'll be okay" I whisper into her ear, reassuring both of us in that moment.

I see the small bumps have formed in seven of the eight areas, allergic reactions to everything. Only the control group has failed to yield a hive.

The diagnosis hits like a weighted brick square in the chest:

milk,
egg,
peanut,
tree nut allergies,
and for good measure
a sensitivity to wheat.

What am I going to feed this kid?

No ice cream?
No grilled cheese?
No french toast?
No peanut butter and jelly?

Life goes on.

Over time, avoidance and substitution become the norm. Easily soy milk finds its place instead of cow's, jelly sandwiches minus peanut butter, Italian ice in place of ice cream. Benedryl and an epi pen always close by, just in case.

It surprises me, nearly a year later, that a blood test reveals the milk allergy may have dissipated. We are given a date to meet at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia to partake in a milk challenge.

Two weeks prior, a nurse from the allergist calls to further explain the process. Over the course of a morning she will consume milk in various quantities, while we wait in between, hoping for no reaction. We will be in the safety of the hospital, in the event an adverse reaction occurs. She is not to have any food or non clear liquid after midnight, and the process should take six to eight hours from start to finish.

"Do you think she'll pass?" Bry asks.

"I hope so" I respond. "It will be so much easier for her not to have this milk allergy".

On Wednesday, I wake at 5:15, and spend the next forty minutes feigning sleep, the anticipation of the day keeps me from rest.

At 6:55, we're heading to the hospital,  a cooler packed with cow's milk, soy milk, juice, soy yogurt, apple sauce and other foods, my laptop, assorted toys, and the diaper bag fill the car.

At 7:28 we find the waiting room and register

By 7:50, we're taken up to the floor.

We are showed our space. Formerly patient rooms, they have been modified to meet the needs of the four children who will challenge their food allergies on this day.

Maeve is weighed, her height is recorded and an overall exam is performed.

Not quite 8:15, they mix the powdered milk substance into the soy yogurt.

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asks.

"Yup!" Maeve responds, and eagerly accepts spoonfuls of the yogurt.

A timer is set for twenty minutes.

Finding the doll stroller in my bag, Maeve eagerly reaches for it. Adjusting her small baby doll inside, she pushes it out the room, down the hall. Stopping at the nurses station, a few feet again, we turn and walk back. We continue the pace for twenty minutes until the timer beeps.

With a quick assessment more yogurt is consumed. She finishes and grabs her stroller and off we go.

Repeat.
Repeat.

Braver with boundaries, our path gets longer with each walk. Pushing the plastic stroller she makes her way to the end of the hallway.

I hear the beeping through the open door and sneak a peek inside.

The room is open, filled with the bright overhead light, and five beds sit along the perimeter. Kids sit in each bed, tweens and teens, if I had to guess, each with an IV running to their arms. One works on a laptop, while another, a girl, sleeps, a protective mask over her face.

"C'mon mommy" Maeve pleads, bringing me back to reality. With a deep breath, I walk on.

I notice a bulletin board filled with information regarding sickle cell anemia and blood transfusions. In that moment, I discover the food challenge shares the floor with blood transfusions.

I spy Maeve ahead, walking gingerly, pushing her beloved stroller.

Our visit is just for the day.

Our tenure at this hospital will be over before it really begins. Our life will go on once with leave, with this day, this food challenge, just one more moment in our life.

The kids in the other room aren't so lucky.

This is their life, frequent visits to the hospital, lost hours spent hooked to machines. They are familiar with these halls, with these rooms, with this staff.

Their reality so different from ours.

I can't help but think how very lucky I am.

After no reaction from the powdered milk, Maeve is coerced into drinking four ounces of cow's milk through the addition of strawberry syrup and a straw.

We wait for another two hours, to ensure no latent reactions and when nothing occurs, are discharged with the loss of one milk allergy.

Walking out, our spirits filled, we stand outside the oncology department as we wait for the elevator to the parking deck.

Again, taking a deep breath, I take a minute to be thankful.

The following day, we celebrate with strawberry ice cream as the milk allergy is officially gone. 

Linking up with Erica M's newest venture, the Hangout Grid on Yeah Write

Also linking up with Shell, as I pour it all out. 

Ridiculously Out of Control

"I'm just not looking forward to today", he says between deep sighs. Bry is leaning against the sink in the kitchen, while I sit looking through the doorway, at the expansive dining room table, various pirate related material at my fingertips.

It is nine o'clock, the morning of Moira's fourth birthday. Between running around making last minute goodie bag additions, I am navigating my to-do list to the best of my ability. His words and the disgusted look on his face stop me dead in my tracks.

"What are you talking about?" I mutter, lifting my eyes from the gluing to the living room where the girls sit, their own eyes glued to the television. Gesturing to our daughter, I continue, "It's Mo's fourth birthday! How can you be anything but excited? She's thrilled!"

On cue, she focuses her attention to us and chimes in, "I'm so excited for my Pirate party today!".

"Me too, baby!" I squeal. "Me too!"

Putting the glue stick down, I shuffle hesitantly into the kitchen.

"You just don't get it" he starts, "You do all this shit. Plan this party for what, months? You're the freaking ring master here, while I get to be the labor. Seriously, what do I do this whole party? Run around like a madman. Cooking shit on the grille, setting up all these ridiculous games outside, then cleaning them all up. I never get to enjoy these parties, while everyone tells you how wonderful they are. I've been dreading this since the moment I woke up."

Stunned, his words hit me like a swift blow to the gut.

"Are you fucking serious?" I ask. "You decide to tell me this the morning of the freaking party, not over the past few weeks while I was planning."

He looks up, as our eyes meet.

Those green eyes tell me everything, a result of sixteen years together. I know he is down.  He doesn't need to say another word, but instead he goes on.

"You seriously just don't get it. You are so fucking selfish. Look at the pictures from the past parties, Jac. Where am I? I think Maeve's party this year was the first one where I'm actually in photos, and that was just luck."

I am flabbergasted, confused, and mad

What can I say?

In three hours my house will be filled with friends and family.
In three hours I will be the happy hostess as we celebrate my Mo's fourth birthday.
In three hours my backyard will house a moon bounce.
In three hours Bry will be manning the grill.
In three hours we need to get our shit together.

What should I say?
What is the right thing to say in a moment like this?

I choose to say nothing.

"I've got to go add sand to the sandbox, and then set up the Walk the Plank. I just want you to realize how out of control this shit gets. I mean, really? Do you think anyone else does this crap? She's four not fourteen. She doesn't need half this shit. Seriously, it would be nice to not have to do anything." he finishes, leaving me in the kitchen with my thoughts.

The rest of the morning flies by in a blink as we respectively finish our to-do list just as our guests arrive at noon. The party goes on without a hitch, as our Pirates craft, eat, run, jump, fish, balance, and dig their little hearts out.

It is a success, but those words resonant through my brain even as the compliments start rolling in via texts, emails, and facebook status updates.

Am I selfish? 

Am I out of control? 

Am I ridiculous? 

Yes. I am. 

The problem with Bryan's argument however is that he thinks I should be upset by this, and over the course of the party, I realized that I am not. 

I cannot be upset, because this crazy, out of control, ridiculous person I am with my children is genetic. 

Don't believe me?

Consider the following evidence:

This is Mo, my brother, and my father at Moira's party. 

Yes, my brother in eye liner and a wig, while my father is in the eye patch and my mom's white blouse. 

This is who I am. 

I am the daughter of the man who would stand in line for an hour at Busch Gardens so we could ride Alpine Geist. 

I am the daughter of the woman who when I asked for a swimming cake for my birthday, figured out that using my trophies as swimmers, and lifesaver candies as lane lines would make a fairly good representation of a competition pool. 

I am the sister to the man who dressed up as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween last year because he thought his third graders would enjoy it. 

I am the sister to the woman who forgoes sleep to bake brownies for the nurse's birthday at the office where she is a pediatrician. 

I am the woman who plans ridiculous, time consuming, over the top parties, because this is the only way I know how to do things. 

It's in every fiber of me to get giddy over celebrations, to search for the perfect favors, to bake cupcakes and dip marshmallows in melted chocolate, to plan parties like this one. 

This is who I am.

And I can't be sorry for that. 

I can, however, realize that my out of control planning does affect the people around me, primarily Bry. He is right to extent, that I don't need to do all the activities I think. 

Editing has never been my strong suit. 

However, I did make sure this year that when it was time to sing Happy Birthday, Bryan was immediately at my side behind the birthday girl as she blew out her candles. 

Our girl is four, her party was a success, and this year I realized that I don't have to do it all.  

Hopefully I remember that in January when Maeve's third birthday comes around. 

Linking up with Shell of Things I Can't Say

And because it's Wednesday, linking up with the best little Blog Link up around, Yeah Write #51

In conclusion, this post won me, from the Yeah Write Duchess herself, Erica M.

Too Late

"So Aunt Lyns, when Patrick gonna get cut out of you?"

We froze mid step, processing the comment.

When my nearly four year old uttered this phrase to our expectant friend about a week ago, I guess this should have been that teachable moment.

You know, the one where I give her the truth about reproduction and childbirth.

Not.

Instead, I looked to my friend Lynsay wide eyed in a state of fear and confusion. She returned my glance with her own blank stare.

"Um, we'll see Mo" she uttered, her eyes fixed on me, looking for direction.

"Yeah Mo," I started, "It's still only March. Patrick won't be here until after your birthday. Sometime in April, he'll be born."

"So that's when they'll cut you, right?" she asked.

"Yeah" nodding along, "yeah, that's right. Um...who wants lunch?" I pleaded, changing the subject.

There was no way I was talking reproduction with my nearly four year old in the breezeway in our local downtown.

Later I rehashed the conversation with Bry. Between dramatic eye rolls and excessive head shaking, he stuttered, "Should we prepare ourselves, you know, in case she asks more?" Visibly shaken and in a state of disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, seriously? How many kids her age ask about stuff like this?"

"No way." I said. "I am NOT having the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's too young. I don't need to be THAT mom. Plus, she saw my c-section scar this morning when I was getting dressed, that might have been on her mind. That's it. She won't ask."

"You sure?" he asked, "You're the teacher". His deference apparent in his voice.

"No way would she ask" I countered."No way, I sincerely doubt she will ask anything more."

Damn you kid!

Descending the stairs Saturday night, the hurried cadence of his footsteps let me know something was wrong.

"We've got a huge problem, " Bry started, "you might want to turn off the TV for this one. It's all your fault." His brow furrowed, as he melted into the couch. "You said we'd be okay."

In those few seconds, my mind wandered frantically, fear over what it could be.

"What is it?" I asked, switching off the television. Turning towards him, I noticed the look of disgust on his face.

"You said we'd have time. Just a few days ago, you said not too worry." his voice a little louder than a whisper, as he shook his head side to side.

"Well what is it? Is it Mo? Maeve? Is everything okay?" I pleaded, attempting to suppress the panic in my voice.

"No. She asked" as he gulped air, "where babies come from?"

"Excuse me?" I said, "She asked what?"

"She wanted to know how PJ got in Aunt Lynsay's belly."

"So what did you say?" my own eyes widening in anticipate of his response. "What did you say?"

"Well, I had no clue. I mean, you told me, 'Don't worry Bry. She won't ask' " he said, using his best fake Jackie voice, " 'There's no way she'd ask'. Well, guess what Jac, She DID! And I was stuck, like a bumbling idiot, just stuck!"

"What did you say?" I asked, my stomach sinking.

"I told her mommies have eggs and daddies have seeds."

"Seeds?" I questioned, suppressing my laughter, "Seriously, you went with seeds?"

"I was not prepared for this Jac," his eyes focused and serious, "I thought it was better than SPERM!"

"True," I conceded, "so what else did you say."

"I told her daddies and mommies kiss. Then the daddies give the mommies their seed for their eggs. But then she got all confused, and I got flustered. I shouldn't have mentioned kissing. Seriously Jac, we should have talked about this. You should have been the one talking."

"Why didn't you ask her what she thinks?" I said. "Remember, we said that before, ask them what they think first! Always ask them what they think!"

"I was shocked, I mean, seriously, you told me not to worry about this" he strained, the stress of the event written across his face. "I stopped with the kissing, because she seemed confused, and then I figured, she'd be thinking a baby would end up in her belly if she kissed Maeve or me. God knows we don't need to stress her out anymore."

"True, so go on."

"So I went back and explained that kissing does not bring a baby. I told her the daddy gives the mommy his seed and then baby grows. Then she said something ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"She asked where mommies and daddies do this. I was honest and told her in the house. She then asked if she could watch."

I couldn't hold it in anymore, as the laughter filled the living room.

"Laugh" he smirked, "you weren't the one dealing with this."

"So what did you say? I mean she asked to watch her parents have sex!" I laughed.

"I told her it was private, and then she asked where she would be when it happens. I told her in her room. She then asked if it could happen when she had a sleepover with Grammie and Popsie, and I said sure, it could. She then asked if it could happen when she's with Grammie with the Bracelets. Again, I said sure. Then she asked where she could sleep at my mom's and I realized the conversation had shifted. I told her we'd let her sleep in Casey's room, with Maeve in the pack and play. She then said that was a good idea. I asked if she had any other questions, praying she was done, when she said no, kissed me on the cheek and told me she was ready to go to sleep. I don't believe it Jac. I can't believe this." he finished.

"So, in a nutshell our kid now thinks Dads have seeds, Mommies have eggs, and she can't watch daddy put the seed in mommy, but she'll be most likely in the house when it happens, right?" I asked. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, Jac. That's about it." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do have one thing to add here. I will not be putting the girls to bed the next few nights. I can't handle anything more."

"What more could she ask, babe?" I asked. "I think you covered it all".

"Just in case," he said, "you've got bedtime the next three nights. I need a beer."

And that my friends, is how Mo learned about reproduction a week before her fourth birthday.

Linking up with the wonderful, the phenomenal, the fantastic Yeah Write community. These bloggers seriously write some of the best stuff on the blogosphere, leaving me in their dust. Show them some love, leave some comments, and on Thursday vote for the best. Feel free to take pity on me, and throw me some love too.

Dirty

Three overripe bananas sit in the fruit bowl. It has been three days since I said I'd make banana bread. The guilt of waste overcomes me, as I take out my cooking Bible, and throw together the batter. Placing the pan in the oven, just as nap time ends. I set the timer for 55 minutes and wait.

The rain subsides early in the morning, as the sun pushes its way through. Hours of sunshine dry the earth, leaving isolated puddles throughout the drive. Unusual warm weather for the middle of March, this early spring has seemed to reawaken our neighborhood. The bell from the ice cream man has rung it's familiar tune, as the shouts and laughter of the children next door seeps through our open windows.

Abandoning heavy coats and hats, for wellies and sweatshirts, they cannot exit the front door fast enough. The porch has been transformed overnight, as Bry brought up the wagon filled with t-ball set, jump ropes, and chalk, a basketball hoop, and their scooters. 

Spring has sprung, and eagerly my children have answered that call!

Alternating between chalk and the t-ball set, the two amuse themselves for nearly a half hour. Occasionally I am asked to pitch a few balls, but for the most part I can just relax and watch. Checking the clock for end time, I have five minutes to spare.

"Let's go girls," I say, "Mama has to check on the banana bread".

"Okay" they respond in unison.

"As long as we can come back out!" negotiates Mo.

"Of course, just stay right here on the porch," I command. "I'll be right back."

Opening the front door, the buzz of the oven greets me.

Perfect timing.

Removing the bread from the oven, I grab a butter knife from the drying rack. Sticking it to the dough, I pull it out to find wet batter. Setting the timer for 7 minutes, I toss the dirty knife into the sink and head back outside.

Back to the grass we go, as balls are continued to be hit. As a stray wiffleball heads down the drive, Mo spies the large puddle.

A long ago discarded pile of dirt, meant to fill in the back garden, has taken permanent residence on our drive. The puddle sits immediately to the right of the dirt. Instead of being clear, murky water lies still.

"Mom!" Mo yells, "I got on my boots. Can I jump in the puddle?"

Fidgeting with some stray mulch, I casually respond, "Sure, just be careful. We've got to go back inside in five minutes."

"I go jump!" Maeve now at my side, galloping up and down begs.

"Of course, babe! Have fun and be careful!"

" 'kay mom!" her voice trailing her body.

It only took a minute.

Maybe less.

The familiar cry fills the air.

"MOOOOOOOOMMMMM!" Mo shouts, "It's Shiny!"

Racing over those few footsteps to the side of the house, not knowing what to expect.

Maeve meets me there, at the top of the walk.

Her cry is loud, and filled with fear.

I hold back to the laughter as I spy her.

Covered from head to toe in wet, moist dirt.

Chocolate milk consistency and colored mud, runs down from her head, covering her eye, cheek, and chin. Her once pink hoodie now saturated and multi=colored, drips down onto her equally wet and dirty pants.

"Mommy! I wet! Hold you, hold you" she repeats open arms wide.

I hear the beep through the window.

Freaking banana bread is done now too.

"Mom, don't touch her! Her gross!" Mo adds to the commentary. "Maeve you gross!"

"No Mo-Mo!" Maeve cries.

While I agree with Mo's assessment, being the adult in this situation I can't agree. Instead I beg my dirty kid to walk to the porch. There's no way I'm picking her sopping, dirty body up right now.

"Stand here baby, " I begin, "Mama get you a towel!"

Entering the house, I pause.

Do I get the camera? 
God, she looks hysterical! 
The dirt, 
her face, 
her poor body, 
I need a picture of this!


It takes every fiber in my body NOT to pick up the camera and snap away.

Ever the good mom, I head upstairs, and pick up an old purple towel. Peeling the layers of soiled clothes and boots off, I strip her to her diaper.

"I dirty mommy" she says. "I bath".

"Yup" I say, as I hear that annoying beep from the oven yet again. "Sit here girls," gesturing to the bottom step,  "while I take out the banana bread."

"So mom," Mo begins. "When we go back outside?"

"What?" I yell, through the door frame.

"When we go back outside? Shiny take a bath then we go back outside, right?" she continues.

"Um, Shiny will get a bath. No more outside" I say, as I reappear in their presence. Sweeping up a dingy diapered Maeve, I start up the stairs.

"NO!" Mo screams at the top of her lungs. "We will go back outside! I not done playing!"

You have got to be kidding me?

"I dirty mom" Maeve repeats as she places her hand on my cheek. Looking at me, she insists "I bath".

"NO! We will go back outside NOW! I NOT DONE PLAYING!!!" screaming at the top of her lungs now, her body shaking with anger. The tears fall from her face, as she goes on. "I GO OUTSIDE NOW!"

Inhale
Exhale


"Shine, you need to walk up the steps right now. Mama needs to take care of Mo!" I interject between the primal screams of my eldest.

"No! No! No!" she maintains.

"Okay, mommy" Maeve responds, "Mo-Mo naughty!"

"I NOT NAUGHTY!!" she howls, from the step just below me. "I. NOT. NAUGHHHHTTTTTYYYY!"

Inhale 
Exhale

Reaching down, I grab a stray foot and arm. Lugging her up the stairs, she continues her chorus of  "I Not Naughty!" .

"Mo-Mo naughty!" she taunts, her nearly naked body runs away as I make it to the landing.

Opening Mo's bedroom door I toss her in, screaming "I'll come back and get you when you've calmed down. You need a time out and need to be out of my sight right now!"

Inhale 
Exhale


I fill the tub, and Maeve eagerly enters. Having the space alone is a novelty, as usually she must fight for access to the spigot. Mo's rants slowly fade away and within minutes the only sound is the water flowing. Turning it off, I head to Mo's room slowly. A body part has hit the door with a thud, as I reach for the knob.  Who knows what is going on in there now?

Inhale 
Exhale

I enter the room to discover my nearly four year old, stripped completely naked.

Between fits of laughter I ask, "What are you doing? Why are you naked?"

"Um," she starts, "I didn't want Shiny to take a bath all by herself."

"Get in the tub!" I command, as her naked body streaks across the hall into the bathroom.

All clean now and ready to jam!

Timing is everything

"I promise I will jump in Mama!" Mo's voice repeats the phrase again.

It has been her personal mantra this past week since her last swim class. Willing herself to do it. Attempting to gather her courage and make that leap off the side into the waiting arms of her swim instructor.

She's not usually like this.

In the nearly four years of her life, physical activities have been quite easy for her. Walking before nine months, (I do not exaggerate)jumping with two feet off the ground before her second birthday, and at soccer clinic this past fall, being mistaken for a five year old as she threw shoulders and dribbled the ball like the best of them.

She's good at physical things.

Swimming is different.

She has to work at it, and I don't think she likes that.
Bryan's DNA taking over there. 

With her first session of swim lessons behind her, confidence in the water has slowly been gained. No longer does that half frozen smile seem pasted on her face, as her visibly tense shoulders and arms cling to Miss Theresa for dear life. Instead, she kicks with strong legs, paddles her arms left and right, and amazingly at the last lesson this session even put her entire face in the water, on multiple occasions.

Maeve is a different story.

This kid loves the water, almost to a fault.

On one of the first classes I made the mistake of trying to slide in down the ladder while she sat on the wall waiting. In the time it took me to descend those three stairs, she had stood up and jumped in. Luckily, my cat like reflexes were able to pull her up before any permanent drowning occurred.

Imagine the lifeguard having to intervene during a parent child swim class?
Only me. Only me.

As the ten weeks came to an end, our Monday night ritual had been too much for me, alone. Undressing, suiting up three bodies, in the water it was Maeve and I together, while Mo swam with her teacher. Bathroom breaks in a sopping wet bathing suit, returning back to the water trying to keep everyone alert and paying attention to their respective teachers, then showering, dressing after.

It wiped me out!

So, as enrollment became open for the new session, it was decided that we would switch to what we would hope would be the leisurely pace of a Sunday early evening class. Since it's Sunday, Bryan would be home!

I was swept away thinking of how fabulous it will be to have an extra set of hands to help, that extra body in the water with Maeve so I could actually watch Mo, that I overlooked a major issue.

We piled into the minivan, all six of us. Bags packed with bathing suits, swim diapers, and towels as Grammie & Popsie eagerly awaited seeing their grand babies swim.

Sitting in the back row, I began talking, "Remember Mo, this is a new session, so Miss Theresa might not be your teacher."

"It's okay Mama!" she said, "I still gonna jump, right Popsie?"
"Oh Mo," he began, "you're so brave! I know you can do it!"
"Jac, we're making good time!" Bry started. "You know next week we don't have to leave so early."
"It's okay!" I said. "Better to be early then late."
"Grammie, I'm gonna jump!" her mantra continues. "Will you be proud?"
"Oh Mo!" she gushes, "Of course! You're the best kid in the whole wide world! Popsie and I can't wait to see you swim!"

Pulling into the parking lot, the clock grants us a seventeen minute reprieve. Plenty of time to undress, suit up, hit the bathroom before swim lessons.

Bryan disappears into the men's locker room as my mom follows the girls and I into the ladies room. Having that extra set of hands is a dream, as we quickly and without fight get everyone ready for swim lessons.

Onto deck with march, our six pack, ready for the day.

Ten minutes to spare. Apparently this new day and time will be grand!

"I'm gonna jump, Daddy!" Mo says, looking up to him as she grabs his hand. "You gonna watch me do it?"
"I'll be right in the water next to you dude," he says. "I'll see it! I promise!"

Eight minutes until time, as the class before begins their final jumps.

As a toweled child walks by with their parent, I notice a piece of paper in their hand.

Could it be? I think.
No. It's not a certificate.
Not a completion certificate.

It's the first day of class, so why would they have these papers?

Five minutes until class time.

Miss Becky, Maeve's instructor from last session walks by, a smile on her face as Maeve waves frantically.

"Hi Maeve!" she says.

"Hi!" Maeve nervously mutters then smashes her face into my thigh.

"Sorry we had to switch classes, " I begin. "It just will be easier on Sundays since my husband is here".

Her smile wanes.

"You know the new session starts tomorrow right?" she asks. "Today is the last day of this session."

"You got to be kidding me!" Bry says, between eye rolls.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"YEAAAAHHHH!!" Mo cannot contain her glee, as she looks to Popsie, "I don't got to jump in today, Pops!"

Her excitement is plastered all over her face.

"That sucks!" I say.

Becky offers a "Sorry" while walking away.

"Well, I guess no swimming today." I say. "I guess we'll be back next week!"

"No pool?" Maeve asks. Her eyes begin to tear.

"Sorry, Shine. Mama and Daddy messed up!"

"No kick, no pool? Swim!" she says again, this time between tears.

My heart breaks as Bry says, "Daddy got it all screwed up! How about we go to the noodle store?"

"NO, POOOOOOLLLL!" she is heartbroken, as she throws her swim suited body on the wet pool deck.

Meanwhile, Mo has already gotten my mom to bring her back into the locker room.

"Grammy, next week I'm gonna jump in!"

Sure, Mo.

Next week.


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That Mom

It's Tuesday a school day for Mo.

But today isn't just any ordinary Tuesday, it's her first Valentine's day in school!

The first time for the tissue box mailbox, 

the first time for Valentine cards, 

Valentine cookies, 

a Valentine party.

Valentine's

Valentine's
Valentine's!

It's time for the adorable heart tunic and the red leggings.

It's time for the crafty and utterly cute photo Valentine cards with the lollipop, totally stolen  inspired by the Pinterest project.  

It's time for the bags of Lindor truffles and thank you cards for the teachers. 

It's time for the delicious pink pancakes with heart sprinkles made with love from mama to kids. 

Thank you Fiona for the inspiration!

It's time for Mama to come in to class and lead a Valentine theme project.

the valentine hug
by: Moira

It's time for Mama to calm the f--k down, because I'm way more excited for Valentine's day then Moira.

When did I turn into THAT mom?

Or wait,

have I always been THAT mom?

Bry and I hardly ever celebrated Valentine's day before children. Sure, there were a few nice dinners here or there, the occasional card or candy or cupcake, but nothing really over the top.

Now I'm adding pink food dye to pancake batter and trying to one up the other mom's coming up with photo Valentine's cards instead of a box of cards. I'm eagerly signing myself (and my friend Danielle begrudgingly) to plan and lead a craft for Mo's preschool class.

I'm drinking the Valentine's day Kool Aid, this year. Hell, as I'm typing I'm wearing red & white heart socks.

What has become of me?

I've only been a mom for less then four years, but based on the facts, I think it's clear to say, I am THAT mom.

I'm the one that gets overly excited for birthdays and holidays. The mom that starts planning birthday parties months into advance. The one that has a gift closet, and puts way too much time and energy into things.

I'm THAT mom.

I'm the one taking photos of every silly milestone. The mom that has a multitude of pinboards on Pinterest dedicated to celebrations, party planning, & kid crafts. The one whose kids seem to have overtaken my life.

I'm THAT mom.

I'm the one that looks for that smile. The mom that can't wait for the laughter. The one that is fueled by the whispered "Thank you!".

I'm THAT mom, and I guess, for now, I'm okay with that.

Plus, I've got a fourth birthday party to plan for Moira. Those parties don't plan themselves so I don't have time to worry.


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Just A Swim

Once upon a time, I thought I was fat.

College Swim Team 1997-98 Season

I walked into the training room and immediately was handed a piece of paper. My eyes glanced quickly and realized it was a spreadsheet. Listed in the first column, all the names of the men and women on my team. Of course, I found my own name and immediately to it's side I noticed 168 lbs.

Glancing over the sheet, it was there in black and white, for all to see.
Instead of concentrating on how I out performed all my female teammates on the bench press, dead lift, and squat (a few guys too), I was focused solely on my weight.
That number being public information pissed me off.

Logically I knew I was not fat, obese, or unhealthy. I was a Division One swimmer, practicing close to 20 hours a week and had a body to match.

However, seeing that number on paper logic was lost to emotion.

While I was one of the strongest women on the team, I also was one of the biggest.

No woman wants to be classified as big, because big is equivalent to fat, and fat does not equal attractive.

Looking back, I am sometimes amazed at my own strength. A teammate's own eating disorder coupled with this incident could have had a very negative affect on my self concept. However, on the contrary, my self concept seemed to improve after these events. I was on the bigger and stronger side, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

As time went on I have held fast to my self concept, even as my exercise routine has shrank and my waist band has widened. My time in the pool had a great impact on who I am, but over time my time swimming all but disappeared. I had work, the graduate school, then a wedding, a baby, a house, and another baby. Swimming was a sacrifice I gave as time was precious.

Things have changed.

Last month it became quite clear Moira needs swim lessons. At nearly four, she is prime to learn how to swim. Deciding to join the local YMCA, was a compromise. As membership permits my children to partake in swim lessons, it also gives me, the former swimmer, the opportunity to return to the pool.

Gulp.

After digging my goggles and swim cap out of retirement and purchasing a new suit at Marshall's, I was ready for that first swim.

Walking through the door, the familiar smell of chlorine smacks me in the face. Descending the stairs from the locker room, I assess the pool. Four lanes are available for lap swimmers, and there are bodies in each lane.

My first time back won't be a solo mission.

In one, an older man floats on his back, occasionally kicking his feet at a snail's pace.

Not that lane.

In another, another older man again on his back, slowly kicks and does the elementary backstroke*.
*not an Olympic event

That lane is out too.

A middle aged man stands facing a woman in a speedo.
"You will get this" she says, "before long you will swim!".

Not this one.

One lane left.

She adjusts her goggles, and pushes off into a nice streamline. Her freestyle looks strong.

F--k.
This is it, my only option.

"Do you mind if I share the line?" I ask.
"Of course, not"  she says, "we'll split the lane".

Before I can nod okay, she's off again. Her stroke is relaxed, her swim comfortable.

Everything I think I won't be in that moment.
It has been over four years since I've swam a lap.
In that time I've popped out two kids, had two c-sections, and steered clear of most exercise and bathing suits.

What the f--k am I doing?

For some reason, I kept the goggles and cap.

Why?

Because if you are swimmer, even if you haven't been in the pool for years, there is nothing like a good swim.

The monotony of back and forth, the cadence of stroke, breath, and kick, the chlorine, are like an old, dear friend. Welcoming with open arms.

I'm going to swim.
Into the water I jump, and immediately I'm back to thinking
What the f--k?

My feet find the pool wall and push into a streamline. Without thinking, my body takes over.

It's not easy, as I feel like I'm pushing through molasses, but I do it.

I swim 1700 yards, which is a little over a mile*.
* 1650 yds. = the mile, one of my old races.

This swim was hard, and my body aches. I used to think I was fat, and I realize how damn fit I truly was!
No longer am I a college athlete with time to dedicate to the weight room and daily workouts. Instead, I'm a shadow of the athlete I used to be. Hopefully over time, a resemblance to that girl in the photo will emerge again.

One who knew she wasn't fat but strong.

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Linking up with The Lightning & The Lightning Bug
This week's theme: Kicking Ass (I think the water kicked my ass this week!)

Winner

Added to my short list of life accomplishments, Editor's Choice victory on Yeah Write (formerly Love Links).

I'd like to take a minute to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press...
I mean,
Thanks to the Academy.

Okay, really, thanks to Erica of  Free Fringes for the love.
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I will be working on the real party post this weekend, as the fabulous Ashley Pierce of her namesake Photography just hooked me up with some kick ass pictures.

A Friendly Reminder

The birthday girl post-chocolate covered pretzel sporting her handmade party hat and I AM 2 shirt

More fun to follow later this week, when I explain in further detail the downward spiral I quickly fell as I do every year as I succumb to my own need to outdo myself with party planning.


I plan to send myself this email around the first of December 2012, when those pangs of decorating start to hit for Maeve's third birthday party. 




Dearest Jackie 2013,

Hello love!
Here I am, typing on Wednesday, still in recovery from the overkill that was Maeve's Second Birthday party this past Sunday. As the streamers still hang and the cupcakes are slowly being devoured,  I just wanted to offer you a friendly reminder:

You are not Martha Stewart
even though Pinterest gives you the confidence boost to make you think you are.

It's okay.
Maeve and Moira will not be scarred if you lessen up on the party planning crap.  Your friends and family will still love you even if there is a lack of homemade *gasp* lemon squares and only limited decorations. You can actually enjoy the time before the big day, with cuddles and time playing with the girls.

Enjoy your time, don't fret over it.




Who the hell am I kidding?

Good luck in 2013, biatch!
This party rocked and you know it!
You're going to need a lot of luck to out-do yourself for 2013, so I assume you've been pinning and researching! You get an extra day this year since it's a leap year, so no excuses.

Enjoying the after glow,
Jackie 2012

Just for the record, I do not think myself Martha, Kate Landers or any of those chicks who plan the out of this world birthday parties on Lifetime or Bravo. 
I'm just a stay at home mom with too much time on my hands...at least that's what Bryan tells me. 

Love links is now "Yeah, Write!"